Daddy's Cap
by Emerald1
Summary: It's the little things that define us. An experimental piece based on the prompt "hat or cap". One shot. Canon death.


A/N - Happy holidays to you all, whichever holidays you celebrate this time of the year. Here's a one-shot for you, based on a prompt I was given a while ago. It's a little angsty. Yeah, I know - color you surprised.

Daddy's Cap

 _Age 13 months_

"Daaaddddaaaa. Dada, Dada, Dada."

"Oh, such a smart little boy. Are you my little sailor?" John scooped his son up and stood him up on the dresser where he could see himself and dropped his officer's cap on the little boy's head. It slid down and covered his eyes. John laughed. "Where's Timothy? Where's Timothy?"

With a shriek of laughter, the toddler pushed the cap back off his face and it tumbled off of his head. "Here!"

John caught the cap and put it back on Tim, this time at the correct angle. "There you go, my little sailor. That's the proper way to wear your cover. Now let's go see your mom, this lieutenant JG has to report to the dock in less than an hour."

"Go? Dada go?"

Instead of answering his son, he picked him up and carried him out into the living room where his wife was polishing John's extra pair of dress shoes. John handed him over, then cursed when he saw a damp spot on his sleeve from the edge of the toddler's diaper. "Damn it, Mary, his diaper leaked on me. It's gone on long enough. I want him toilet trained before I get home from this float."

"Of course, John." The proper Navy wife, Mary accepted responsibility and bowed her head. A car horn sounded outside and John shoved the freshly polished shoes into his duffel and snatched his cap off of Timothy's head and tucking it under his arm as he left without a goodbye. Little Timothy touched his now bare head and stared at the closing door.

"Bye bye."

-NCIS-

 _Age 5_

"Daddy." Little Timothy McGee squinted, looking at the row of men in nearly identical white uniforms lined up at the ship's railing. They were all at attention and all wearing their covers. Finally the ship was docked and the disembarkment ceremony was about to begin. It had been so hard to wait, but he'd been good and not played like the other kids waiting for their fathers. Now they were sweaty and some of them had grass stains on their clothes, but Timothy's clothes were still neat and tidy, just the way his father would want to see him.

They finally moved forward and Tim held his mother's hand tightly with one hand and clasped his very first report card in his other. If his report card was good enough then Daddy had promised him an afternoon in the park. Finally after many grown-ups talking over the loud speaker, the men were coming off the ship. He looked and looked, then finally his father appeared, his cover blocking out the sun, causing a halo. Suddenly awed, Tim stared up at his father. He was almost a stranger, his skin darker than the picture Mommy kept in the living room, but Tim recognized him and was proud to see the two bars on his collar, showing everyone that the dreaded 'JG' was no longer part of John McGee.

Tim stood perfectly straight and still while his mommy and daddy kissed and was rewarded when John finally squatted down and placed his cap on Tim's head. "How's my sailor? You been a good boy?"

"Yes, Sir, and I got my first report card." Proudly he held it up. Mommy hadn't shown him the report card, but he'd peeked and there had been lots of stars from his kindergarten teacher. While his daddy looked over the report, Timmy carefully adjusted the cap to be just the right angle like a proper sailor.

Finally his daddy folded the report back up and slid it back into the envelope. "Not too bad, but your teacher tells us that you're still mixing up your b's and your d's sometimes. Let's go home and practice those, shall we?"

His eyes stung and he blinked hard. "But the park?"

"No, schoolwork comes first, Timothy." John reached down and took his cover from Tim's head and carefully replaced it on his own before tightly gripping Tim's hand. "Come along, there's no time like the present to better ourselves."

Timmy walked next to his father, struggling to keep up with the longer strides as he looked over his shoulder. Behind them the various families were scattering, most of the heading toward the nearby playground, fathers and children laughing and chasing each other. He saw Bobby Murphy from his kindergarten class. Bobby still couldn't write any of his letters right, but he was riding on his daddy's shoulders. Vanessa Taylor had been sent to the principal's office twice and she was going to the park with her family, too.

Dejected, Timmy started to drag his feet, only to be pulled along by his father. "Timothy, don't dawdle. An officer always walks briskly and with purpose."

He looked over his shoulder one last time as his friends faded into the distance. "Bye, guys."

-NCIS-

 _Age 8_

Tim eyed his father's cover, laying perfectly centered on the mahogany desk. "Dad?"

John was reading some files and didn't look up. "Hmmm?"

He took a deep breath. "Can I wear your cap for Halloween? I mean one of your old ones that you don't use anymore."

"Timothy, an officer's cover is a symbol of honor and respect. No matter how old or worn it is, you will not desecrate it by turning it into some tawdry costume. Is that understood?"

Tim felt his shoulders sag. It had been a long shot, he reminded himself. "Yes, Sir."

"Besides," his father continued as he made a few notations in the file that held his attention, "spending an evening running around and collecting candy is something for little children. You need to concentrate on preparing for the accelerated program. Have you forgotten?"

"But, Dad, it's just one night." Tim stared in horror as the one bright spot in his life started to fade. "Mom said -"

"Your mother is too pregnant to think straight right now. Now fetch your flash cards. I want you proficient up to fifteen times fifteen by the time you test next week."

"They only test up to ten times ten."

"Never!" John slammed the folder down on the desk, knocking his cap askew. "Never settle for just doing the minimum, Timothy. I was the youngest Lieutenant Commander in the Pacific Fleet, do you think I got there by just doing the minimum?"

Tim hung his head. "No, Sir."

"Damn straight, Sailor. Now get your flash cards and get to work."

"Yes, Sir." Timothy McGee blinked hard as he said goodbye to his childhood way too soon.

-NCIS-

 _Age 11_

"Dad." The word was so quiet when it passed his lips that no one else heard it. They'd been in Florida for months and he'd finally made a friend, but his father was standing next to the family car, arms crossed, cover in place, staring at him across the park. "Sorry, Pete, I gotta go."

"Go? But we just got here." Pete looked over, saw the Commander standing there and immediately straightened up. "Is that your dad?"

"Yeah." Tim picked up his backpack. "I'll see you later, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer before he started jogging over to where his father was waiting.

Reaching the car, he stood there nervously, waiting to see his father's reaction. If his cap came off, they were getting in the car. If it stayed on, he'd be drilled right here and now. The cap stayed on. "Who is that boy?"

Tim knew better than to look away, but he could feel the sweat on the back of his neck. Unfortunately his father hadn't parked in the shade. "His name is Pete, he's in the same reading group as me."

"Is he civilian?"

"He's my age, Dad."

"Don't take that insolent tone with me, young man. You know exactly what I mean."

Tim did and knew this would even be worse. "His dad is a Chief Petty Officer."

"Enlisted? Have you lost your mind, boy? I am a Commander in the United States Navy. Before long I'll be competing for my own ship. Appearance is everything, Timothy, and I can't have you running around with riff-raft like that."

"But..."

"No buts, Timothy. This weekend we have been invited to a barbecue by Captain Taylor. He has a son in your grade. That young man would be a proper classmate to have as a friend. Is that understood?"

Brad Taylor, like most of the kids in his class, was three years older than Tim. Most of the kids ignored the whiz kid, but Brad and his gang enjoyed torturing him every day. Tim rubbed the newest bruise on his arm and said goodbye to his only friend. "Yes, Sir."

-NCIS-

 _Age 15_

"The sooner you get that weak stomach of yours under control the sooner we can return to dock, Timothy."

Tim felt his fingers cramp as he held onto the railing and tried to ride out another wave of nausea. He'd actually managed a few hours, then his father had pulled out his lunch. The smell of the sauerkraut had sent him right back to the rail.

For a brief moment he'd considered using his father's cap as a puke bucket. Perhaps then his death would be mercifully quick. Short of that, all his wanted to do was to go home. With nothing, not even bile, left in his stomach to bring up, Tim rinsed his mouth and spit the vile tasting water into the ocean. Forcing himself to breath steadily he turned back to his father.

"Better, Timothy. Now, eat your lunch and then clean those fish we caught."

Sauerkraut, dill pickles, greasy bologna sandwich and fish guts. Tim said goodbye to all the progress he'd made.

-NCIS-

 _Age 17_

"What is this?" John dropped his cover on the dining room table and leaned over Tim, glaring at the list of classes Tim was writing down.

"I'm meeting with my adviser next week, Dad, so I can register for my sophomore year."

"No, Timothy. I agreed to one year at MIT because you were too young for Annapolis. Now it's time to focus on that. You need to nail that interview."

Tim froze, staring at the gold trim on his father's cap. As he'd been ordered to, Tim had answered every question on the lengthy application, written his essays and then made sure the application made it to the right place at the right time. Of course Tim's idea of the right place was probably very different than his father's.

Eventually John would discover that his son's masterfully written Annapolis application was hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser and that no one would be calling him for an interview. "A lot of people are applying. I might not get in, but I'm already at MIT, Dad."

"Oh, you'll get in, I'm sure of it. By the way, here's your allowance for the week." John laid some money down on the table but instead of a ten and a five, there were assorted bills and a handful of change. "I subtracted the cost of the postage to mail your application myself, Timothy. Your interview with Admiral Huntley is a week from Thursday."

Tim stared straight ahead as he heard his father leave the room and go upstairs. In a fit of anger he swept the cap off the table and watched it fall to the floor. Panicking, he scooped it back up and carefully checked it for dirt or damage.

Satisfied that it was all right, Tim carefully placed his father's cap back on the table, lining it up perfectly between the two candlesticks.

A week from Thursday found Tim nervously wiping his hands on his pant legs as he waited outside Admiral Huntley's office. The lieutenant at the desk gave him an encouraging nod, obviously expecting him to be nervous. The problem was that Tim wasn't nervous about getting into Annapolis, he was nervous about finding a way out of it.

Finally in the inner office, Tim stared at the Admiral's cap, properly placed at the corner of the desk as he answered by rote the questions his father had drilled into him. Eventually one question tripped him up.

"Why do you want to attend Annapolis, Timothy?"

He swallowed hard as the prepared answer dried up in his throat. Admiral Huntley gave him a curious look and Tim gave his first honest answer of the interview. "I don't, but it's expected of me." Tim expected anger or shock, but Huntley seemed almost amused.

"Tell me about what you're doing at MIT."

The words almost bubbled out of Tim as he explained about the joint program he wanted to enroll in that would give him dual enrollment with MIT and John Hopkins, about the research he was doing and what kind of impact it would have – not only in civilian life, but for the military. When he finally had to stop and take a breath, Huntley laughed and shook his head. "I knew your late grandfather, Timothy, and that means I also know your grandmother and you're just like her. Don't let your father convince you that that's an insult."

"Thank you, Sir." Tim didn't know where any of this was going, but it was an amazingly freeing experience to step outside his father's expectations.

"You get those degrees and you won't qualify for Annapolis."

Tim felt his heart sink. "Yes, Sir."

"However, those degrees would put you on the fast track at Officer's Candidate School."

"Sir?"

"Annapolis can be a wonderful place for those that want it, but it's not a one size fits all and it's not the only way to become an officer in the Navy, Tim. Don't worry, I'll remind your father of that when we play golf this weekend. For now, stay at college, focus on your research opportunities and stay in touch. I'm looking forward to seeing what you accomplish at school."

"Thank you, Sir." Tim took the first step in saying goodbye to his father's expectations.

-NCIS-

 _Age 20_

"I'm not going."

"Excuse me?" His father stared at him over the top of his reading glasses, but Tim stared at the cap on the corner of the desk.

"I've been accepted into the advanced biomedical degree program and Professor Carter told me that my research proposal is one of the finalists."

"Damn it, Timothy, I agreed to allow you to drop your application to Annapolis in exchange for your application to the Officer Candidate School. Admiral Huntley..."

"Knows about this." Interrupting his father was forbidden, but Tim pushed on. "He said that DARPA might be interested in my research when I'm done."

His father snorted, throwing his report onto the desk. "DARPA – a bunch of civilian pencil pushers financed at the whim of politicians. If you're going to throw your future away, I will no longer fund it."

Not a surprise, he'd been expecting that for some time. "I've been granted a teaching fellowship. That comes with a full ride scholarship, plus a stipend."

"This family has a long history of serving in the Navy. Do you really want to throw that away?"

"I want to use my skills and abilities in the best way possible and there's a lot of ways to serve my country."

John threw his hands up in the air. "You practice that one with your grandmother?"

"No, but I know she'd agree with me."

"Fine. Go back to Maryland this afternoon. Your mother will drive you to the bus station."

"Dad?"

"We are entertaining tonight and I will not have you underfoot, disparaging the Navy."

"I didn't say that anything was wrong with the Navy. It's just not for me, not in the same way it is for you."

"And I will not be humiliated by that kind of talk. You are leaving now."

"But Sarah's birthday is tomorrow."

"You should have thought of that before you threw away everything that is important to this family." John stormed to the office door and threw it open. "Mary, Timothy is leaving now."

From the hallway she looked in and subtly shook her head at Tim. He knew that was her signal. Give in. Don't antagonize him. Defeated, Tim walked out and picked up his suitcase – the one he'd set down when he'd arrived less than an hour ago.

Sarah was on the stairs, glaring at him. "You promised you'd be here for my birthday, Tim."

There was nothing he could say that wouldn't make it worse. Ducking his head, he slipped out the door as Sarah started to cry. Tim said goodbye to being part of the family.

-NCIS-

Age 24

"I told you, Timothy, never trust the politicians."

Tim sighed and reminded himself that he knew this would happen. That his father would rub it in his face that the funding cuts had ended his plans of being hired by DARPA to continue his work. He just hoped that his compromise would garner some favor from the Admiral. "I know, Dad, but look at it this way – now I'll be working for the Navy."

"As a civilian cop? All that education and you're going to make a career out of dragging drunk sailors out of bars?"

"NCIS does a lot more than that, Dad. In fact, that's the job of the Shore Patrol. NCIS solves crimes and hunts down terrorists. They protect the Navy. You said it yourself, this family has a long history of serving the Navy."

"Serving _**in**_ the Navy, Timothy. That's a big difference." John took his cover off and held it out in front of him. "This is a sign of honor and duty. This is what you've thrown away and this is what I can't forgive. Goodbye, Timothy."

"Goodbye, Dad." And when he walked across the stage that afternoon, and was honored as the top graduate at FLETC, he didn't bother to look out in the audience. His tickets had gone unused.

-NCIS-

 _Age 30_

The memories wouldn't stop coming. The case had been bad under any circumstances but for him, responding to the shooting of an unidentified admiral had been heart-stopping. Two shotgun blasts, one to the face and one to the chest, meant that fingerprints and DNA would make the identification. Taking another drink of scotch, he closed his eyes as he remembered.

 _"David, witnesses. DiNozzo, sketch and shoot. McGee, bag and tag."_

 _"Yes, Gibbs."_

 _"You got it, Boss."_

 _"Yes, Boss."_

 _Ducky was examining the body so Tony and Tim started at the bottom of the hill. There wasn't much down there except for an officer's cap, apparently lost in the struggle. It was laying upside down and after Tony snapped his last picture, Tim picked it up to slide it into the evidence bag. Turning it over, the rank of their dead body was evident._

 _"Tony?"_

 _DiNozzo gave a nod. They hadn't been up close and personal with the body yet. "Dead admiral, no wonder Gibbs is barking orders. You okay, Probie?"_

 _Forcing it back, he nodded. "Yeah, sure, Tony."_

Case solved, he couldn't let it go, could still remember the weight of the cover in his hands, the familiar insignia that he'd polished once upon a time. His phone was right there and his fingers remembered the number.

"Hey, Dad, it's Tim."

 _Timothy._

"It... It's been a long time since we've had a chance to talk. I thought now that you're based at Norfolk, we could get together, maybe have dinner."

 _I'm preparing for a float._

"That's in six months."

 _Hardly enough time to properly prepare._

"Of course, I understand." No, he didn't. He didn't understand when he was a child and he didn't understand now. One evening, it was all he ever wanted. Just one evening where he came first in his father's life. "I'll let you get back to work, then, and if I don't see you before, have a good tour."

 _Thank you, Timothy._

His father was barking orders to someone before the call ended. But then, how could he say goodbye when he never had a chance to say hello?

-NCIS-

 _Age 32_

Standing in the observation room, hearing about his father's cancer had certainly been one of the low points in his life, but he thought that he and his father were finally repairing their relationship, that perhaps they'd have a chance to get it right before it was too late. Now his father was packing for another mission.

"I thought you were going to stay in DC and have treatment at Bethesda."

"This project has been going on for over five years. I'm going to see it through."

Tim carefully picked up his father's cover from the bedside table. "And your treatment?"

"Will continue as before."

The pills that slowed the spread of the cancer, but did little else. "How can you beat the cancer if you don't fight it, Dad?"

"What good is a treatment that confines me to land?"

There were so many ways he could answer that, but Tim already knew his father's response, knew not to waste the energy trying. He didn't fight as his father took back his cover.

"Goodbye, Timothy."

"Goodbye, Dad." It might not be the end, but it was close enough that he couldn't tell the difference.

-NCIS-

 _Age 36_

"It's time, Timothy."

Tim nodded at the minister as he wiped his eyes. The letter had been tucked into his father's casket and his family was waiting for him in the chapel. Final goodbyes were always the hardest and he didn't want to leave. Breena had done a good job and his father looked more like he was asleep than anything more permanent. Tim trailed his fingers across the many ribbons and medals that adorned the still chest, making sure they were all perfectly straight. John McGee would be mortified to meet St. Peter wearing anything less than perfect.

As requested, his father's cover was tucked under his arm. Breena and her team had done a good job, but none of them were military so Tim adjusted it slightly, making sure it was at the perfect angle. That's when it hit him, this was the last time he'd see his father's cap, the one thing that symbolized the man more than anything. He ran his fingertips along the brim carefully, remembering not to leave any smudges on the perfectly polished surface.

"Bye, Daddy. I'll miss you."


End file.
